


Smoke

by lordbyronsbloomers



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordbyronsbloomers/pseuds/lordbyronsbloomers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jakes couldn't swallow properly—his mouth was suddenly unbearably dry.</p><p>A missing scene from 'Sway.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: MINOR SPOILERS FOR 'SWAY'

Jakes couldn't swallow properly—his mouth was suddenly unbearably dry. This was meant to have been a routine questioning, that was all. In Burridge’s at nine, out by eleven at the latest, with enough time for a cuppa before lunch.

His eyes darted back to the figure of Charles Highbank, the source of his discomfort. It was the same man, Jakes was sure of it. Different glasses, rounder now and more in fashion, but beneath them his face was undeniably the same. And then there were Highbank's unmistakable mannerisms—the distinctly ethereal way in which he walked and moved. It had been awhile, yes, but Jakes was sure it was him. He only hoped Highbank wouldn’t recognize him in return.

It was almost as if Highbank had read his thoughts, for it was at that moment that Highbank glanced up at Jakes, a look of realization dawning on his face. Immediately, Jakes looked away. He pretended to fumble with his lighter as Thursday addressed the group of Burridge's employees.

“As you all have been informed, we’re investigating the death of Mr. Norman Parkis, who was found stabbed to death this morning in one of the store’s display windows." Thursday paused, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. The employees shifted uncomfortably on their feet. "We’ll be interviewing all of Burridge's employees. Mr. Burridge and Mr. Quinbury have kindly offered us the use of their offices, in which DS Jakes and DC Morse will be conducting their questionings. We expect full cooperation and any information that will assist us in the investigation of the death of your coworker.”

Thursday's short yet effective speech left the employees silent and anxious. Thursday nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied, before turning to Jakes and Morse.

“Morse, you take Armstrong, Deeks, Burridge. Jakes—Highbank, Quinbury, Haldane. Let’s get this case finished up, and fast.” 

Morse nodded, dutiful as ever, as Thursday donned his hat and walked away. Jakes clenched his jaw, and tried to keep control of himself. It was just his bloody luck. 

Jakes slowly lit another cigarette, delaying the now inevitable meeting as long as possible. When he looked up, he was startled to find Morse staring at him, wearing an expression of slight concern.

“What’s got you?”

"You'd like to know," Jakes replied. Ever since Morse had come back to Cowley, their work relationship had been slightly more amicable. Still, it didn't mean Jakes was obligated to divulge his innermost soul to the man.

"Your hands," Morse frowned. 

Jakes noticed that they were shaking. He shoved them into his pockets, embarrassed. “It's nothing. It’s just—that Highbank fellow. He’s a bit... _off_ , if you know what I mean.” He raised his eyebrows, trying to get his point across in the most delicate way possible. 

Morse just pursed his lips. He obviously didn't.

“He’s, well, he’s—“ Jakes stumbled, unsure of how to address the issue without coming off as a complete git.

Morse looked across the room at Highbank. Suddenly, he seemed to understand. “Oh.”

“Swap?" Jakes asked, not quite daring to look Morse in the eye. "I’ll file the next round of car-theft reports.”

Morse scoffed, incredulous. “Just because he’s…” Morse fumbled for the right phrasing as well, finally settling on, " _that_   _way_ , it doesn’t mean he’s going to ask you out for drinks or anything.”

“That’s not—,” Jakes began, but left it at that. He blew out a puff of smoke, and almost felt like laughing. Morse was probably staring at him with that stupefied expression of his, waiting for him to elaborate. Jakes didn’t.

•••

By the time Jakes was done interviewing  Quinbury and Haldane, he thought he'd regained pretty good control of himself. Sure, he'd nearly gone through his entire pack of Lucky Strikes, but at least he could breathe properly again. In fact, he was almost feeling cocky. He was a bloody Oxford sergeant, for Christ's sake. He had not reason to feel anxious. 

This illusion was shattered, however, when Charles Highbank glided the office and greeted Jakes with a familiar nod of the head.

“Peter.”

“Sergeant Jakes,” he corrected, looking down his nose at Highbank.

“My apologies, sergeant.” Highbank sat down opposite Jakes and folded his hands over his now crossed legs. “Old habits, you know.”

Jakes pretended not to have heard him, and looked pointedly down at his notebook. Already, his ears were buzzing. He just had to get through the next few minutes, he told himself. That was it. “Where were you last night, between the hours of eight and midnight, Mr. Highbank?”

“At Luisa Armstrong’s—she works in the stockings department. We have dinner together every Friday. Swap stories, the latest conquests, _you_ know.”

Jakes bristled, but did not rise to the bait. “How long have you known Mrs. Armstrong?”

“Oh, three or four years,” Highbank said airily. “We hit it off my first day at Burridge's. She, a widow, and I…well, you know.” He waved a hand. “We didn’t have to worry about anything messy. Though, sometimes messy is good, don't you think?”

Jakes reddened in the face. He flipped through his notebook, suddenly frustrated. This was supposed to be a simple questioning, but he found himself at a loss for words.

Evidently sensing Jakes's uncertainty, Highbank took the reins of the conversation. “Haven’t seen you down at the club for nearly a year.”

Still refusing to look Highbank in the eye, Jakes pretended to occupy himself with a loose thread on his trouser leg. “I’m a sergeant now, Mr. Highbank.”

“So you’ve said. And are sergeants not allowed to have a love life?”

Jakes laughed a hollow laugh. He deeply inhaled the smoke from his cigarette. “My job isn’t quite as flexible as yours. They're not as willing to turn a blind eye to things like that down at the station. I mean, for Christ’s sake, it’s against the law—“

“The law’s wrong—“

At this, Jakes looked up, steadily meeting Highbank’s gaze. “ _I_  know that."

Jakes leaned forward, across the desk, the words he had been holding back suddenly flowing out. "But it doesn't matter what the hell I think. Because if any of the lads down at the station get a whiff that I hang around at a club like that, I might as well kiss my dreams of getting out of Oxford goodbye. I'll forever be the 'poof,' the 'fairy,' the ' _raging_   _queer_ ' of Oxford City Police. And that's only until they fire me, mind you. Because they _would_ fire me. I don't care how understanding Thursday pretends to be, he'd let me go without batting an eyelash..."

Jakes trailed off and took a drag on his cigarette, trying to steady his now shaking voice. He couldn't bring himself to look Highbank in the eye again. Instead, he let his gaze linger on the unfocused tip of his cigarette. 

Highbank ran a hand over his face, and exhaled steadily, as if he too were smoking. “Alright, Sergeant. Alright." After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he leaned forward in his chair, until only a few inches of space remained between them. "I understand. I do. Just—don't let all that smoke get in your eyes. From someone who understands—remember, we only get one life.”

"Thank you for the life lesson, Mr. Highbank," Jakes said, bitterness coating his voice. He pressed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and stared at the lingering smoke for a moment, as if in a daze. Quite suddenly, he stood up. “We’ll be in contact.”

“Yes. Thank you, Sergeant.” Highbank stood as well, and after a moment's hesitation, reached a hand out across the desk. Jakes looked at it, but did not move to shake it. Highbank simply shrugged. As he left the office, he cast a glance over his shoulder. Jakes thought he read a trace of pity in his eyes. 

Jakes lingered in the office, giving himself some time to regain his composure. He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, smoothed back his hair. Last of all, he reached for another cigarette. When he pulled the pack from his jacket pocket, however, his heart sank. It was empty. Fucking empty.

Without knowing why, he suddenly hurled the flimsy cardboard container into the rubbish bin beside the desk with an uncalled-for force. It clattered softly against the only other item inside, a discarded newspaper, hardly making a sound. Bloody useless.

Jakes swallowed the rising lump in his throat, and slammed the office door behind him. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There was a moment in 'Sway' where Jakes makes some snarky comment to Thursday about Highbank being flamboyantly gay. In my own personal headcanon, Jakes is queer, and so naturally this moment slightly confused me. I attempted to reconcile this particular moment, by creating a moment of my own. 
> 
> Also, I hope it's clear that Jakes and Highbank never had a ///thing/// - I just think they knew of each other, after attending the same club on-and-off for a few years.


End file.
